In another lifetime, a few weeks ago, I spent a couple of days cutting off the slowest sort of tractor-trailers in central Italy to avoid getting punted from behind by rampaging German tourists in diesel BMWs. My Fiat Panda had 4.5 squirrel-power to call upon from an engine that propelled the little MPV forward with considerable effort (and considerable noise). It had all the grace of a wombat, it was tall and spindly, and remarkably slow. I punch-drunk-loved it. This was the creme de la crap cars.

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The slow, awkward, but remarkably competent Panda I'd been in for less than three hours, in an alien driving environment, had seemed utterly normal. Its banality was a measure of its competence. It was a good car. I liked this funky little wombat. And I wondered why Americans don't get these kind of cars—either conceptually, or in actuality. They're not on sale here, for the most part.

What's Good

I forgot about the 500L. There are moments when the 500L approaches the level of simple, chuckable fun that appealed to me about its platform-mate, the Fiat Panda. There's the seating position, for one. High and upright, Swedish ergonomic experts would fall over themselves to commend the straight-backed, feet-flat-on-the-floor posture you assume. And then there's the silly shifter. It's squared off, sitting low next to you. It falls right to hand and is easy to use, just like the Panda's. The clutch and shifter are toggle switches, light in action, fairly precise. They trade a Honda S2000-like feel for ease of use. This would be a great car to learn how to drive stick on, and it's not bad in heavy traffic. Easy.

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And unlike the Panda, the 500L's turbocharged 1.4-liter MultiAir four-cylinder engine has a respectable 160 HP and 184 lb-ft, which is really plenty to move it's 3000-odd-lbs around. This Americanized wombat can scoot under certain circumstances. I'll get to that below. And it's pretty comfortable cruising at 80 MPH. Merging and passing, two realities of American interstate travel, aren't an issue, so this immigrant has integrated well into that aspect of our culture.

What normally sets European and American tiny cars apart is suspension tuning. Everyone insists that what makes a 0.9-liter Peugeot fun on a French backroad will make all of us here in North America throw our backs out at the first frost heave. Do our sinks not drain in the same direction or something? Despite the constancy of the laws of physics throughout the universe, the 500L gives the impression that it's been dumbed-down a bit for us. It's pleasant and well-balanced, and the long-ish wheelbase helps absorb bumps, but it's not quite as eager to attack on ramps as my Panda was. That's not really a fault considering its intended market, but this isn't a canyon carver. It won't loosen any fillings, either, and so it got points in my book (and my girlfriend's) for a surprisingly comfortable ride.

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Lastly, there's the utility factor. That's why you buy one of these instead of one of the company's other offerings, right? I hope I'm not spoiling your surprise by admitting it'll hold far more than a regular 500. The rear seats are comfy and "theater-style" elevated. They fold-and-tuck forward against the rear seatbacks and reveal a fair amount of cargo space, but it's shamed by a Honda Fit. It's probably not enough room for the stereotypical American family of four, but in a perfect world, where size did not necessarily equal value, it would be.

While I don't have much positive to say about the styling, I will say that I liked the interior materials a lot. Much like the latest Volkswagen Beetle, the body-colored glossy trim panels look high-class, and brighten up an interior that would otherwise be a vast expanse of various textures of cheap plastic. Honda and Toyota, in particular, need to get on the bandwagon in this regard.

Why You Shouldn't Buy It

Let's get right down to it: there are better ways to spend $20,000 on a small people mover. The Fit, for instance. It's utilitarian, agreeable to drive, and cute in a furry mountain rodent sort of way.

The Fiat 500L is a different breed of disreputable mammal. It had all the grace of a three-legged wombat, it was tall and long and pot-bellied. Sitting still, it looked mangy and ill-nourished. Not a handsome animal, to be sure. An ugly car can be forgiven its visual sins, however, if some combinations of other characteristics more than make up for it.

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That's not the case here. Sigh.

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The problems start right behind the wheel, which invariably blocks the upper 40% of the gauge cluster, entirely. It's the same result no matter your size or the length of your appendages if you want to be comfortable and reach the controls. It's the same result. It's maddening. And it's not a very nice wheel, either. It's slippery, with a big nasty seam in the outer circumference. For those of us not skilled in telekinesis, the wheel is a thing you have to touch 100% of the time you drive the car. How you can get the wheel this badly wrong is beyond me.

Let's move onto the powertrain. Sigh with me, now.

The turbocharged 1.4-liter Multiair engine is not, per se, slow. It's perfectly capable of delivering all the thrust you wanted thirty-seven seconds before you stabbed the throttle, all at once, and then spend the rest of its time loafing about like a depressed teenage sloth. It's schizophrenic. I didn't have time to put it through psycho-analysis to figure out what specific mommy (Fiat) and daddy (Chrysler) issues it's suffering from, but here's my prescription: Find a naturally aspirated motor—any naturally aspirated motor—and transplant it, still-beating, into the 500L to save it from itself. Like a lemur, the MultiAir is not suited for captivity or city life. It needs a domesticated powerplant to combat the mood swings and ennui that come from being genetically engineered to answer a question nobody asked.

That question is, mainly, "why?" The Fiat 500 itself is a cute, cuddly thing, cursed with the same powertrain schizophrenia the subject before us suffers from—but it's so cute! No one really cares how it drives. It's a handbag.

Apparently the cuteness doesn't scale well. Miyazaki fans who need a large small car that looks like a Catbus might give the 500L the benefit of the doubt. Everyone else will do the math, realize that an unsophisticated powertrain and awkward-but-not-cute styling doesn't amount to a whole hell of a lot in a competitive marketplace.

You know, they could just bring us the Panda. It's already charmed me with its dopey, adorable ways.